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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097923">Good Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarryTheDemon/pseuds/LarryTheDemon'>LarryTheDemon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Biting, Crying, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Other, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, actually i don't think there's ANY pronouns, beel comes in for like. two seconds, lucifer calls mc master, truly excessive use of the words 'good boy', when i say biting i mean the flesh ends up looking like mincemeat so be warned i guess, yeah theres a Lot of feelings in this one actually??</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:34:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarryTheDemon/pseuds/LarryTheDemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you're up hella late, so is Lucifer, neither of you have brain-to-mouth filters, and shit happens</p><p>the mc's genetalia/pronouns are never used or described, it's just them doing shit to lucifer</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>listen sometimes you're just browsing through ao3 and then next thing you know you've written 3k of whatever the fuck this is!! sometimes shit just happens to ya!! i dont know how this happened i literally have no idea. this might be hella ooc i dont know, i also dont care</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re in the kitchen when it happens. Luckily, it’s late at night, or he’d truss you up and hang you from the ceiling like he does to Mammon, you’re sure. You’d just set water to boil for tea, and he walks in. You hum at him in greeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good evening,” he says. Of course he does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s one in the morning, Luci.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He levels a glare at you, too tired to reprimand you for calling him that. “You put the water to boil?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not making you coffee,” you say. His brow furrows in vague displeasure. You ignore him as the kettle whistles, and move to grab your teabags from the cupboard. “Get me a mug, will you, please? Would you like any?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head softly, handing you one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>mugs. The ones he lets no-one touch but him, says anything but coffee in it makes it taste off. You frown. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must really be tired, huh? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You risk a glance up at him. He’s watching you rather intently for being dead on his feet, appearing as if he’s waiting for something. You shrug internally, and stick your teabags in. Near immediately, he grabs the kettle from the stove, carefully pouring the water in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Good boy,” you say absentmindedly, and then, when your brain catches up with your mouth, </span><em><span>“Fuck.”</span></em> <em><span>Stupid, </span></em><span>you think of yourself immediately after, biting down hard on your tongue.</span> <span>Your voice was near whispering, so maybe he hadn’t heard it? You glance over your shoulder, where he stands frozen, kettle still in hand. </span><em><span>Oh, dear, </span></em><span>you think.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Good boy,” you say again, stronger, and he shudders in a gasp. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Huh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you think. “How tired are you?” You ask. “When was the last time you properly slept?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two nights ago, Master,” he answers, without hesitation, and now it’s your turn to suck in a sharp breath. You had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>been expecting that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Okay,” you say, “Okay. Lucifer, why don’t you come with me, you didn’t need anything but coffee from the kitchen, yes?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mention of </span>
  <em>
    <span>coffee </span>
  </em>
  <span>has his mind awake again immediately. His back snaps straight, eyes wrenching themselves from yours as the furrow in his brow gets deeper. “Forget you heard anything,” he says. You can hear the edge of a snarl in his voice, but it sounds more scared than angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, sweetheart,” you say gently. The pet name shocks him back into silence, as you’d hoped it would. You’d never called him anything other than his name before. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He mumbles some garbled nonsense that sounds suspiciously like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have shit to do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so you take his hand and your mug and walk him out of the kitchen. Your room’s right next door, you know he’s not gonna make it back to his in this state. Kicking open the door, you set your tea on the nightstand and sit down on the bed. “C’mere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sinks down next to you, a bit tense--he hasn’t forgotten your earlier exchange. His eyes watch you warily as you undo his tie, set his coat aside, and start tugging at the buttons on his waistcoat. Surprisingly, he makes no move to stop you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to grab something for you from your room?” You ask. He shakes his head, still tracking your movements as you gently remove his gloves. “Would you like me to take this off?” You tug at his shirt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t be too comfortable to sleep in button-downs, can it? Then again, I’ve never tried it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, seeming to agree with your internal monologue, so you start on that next. His hands lift, and you scrunch your eyebrows together. “Just tell me to stop if you want me to, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, not meeting your eyes, but you get the sense it’s because he’s distracted rather than embarrassed. You shrug it off and start on his buttons again, ignoring when his hands come up again--until he places them on your chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You blink. “Luci-” He cuts you off with a glare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other one,” he says. You cock your head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other…?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-” He starts, but his pride seems to stop him in his tracks, his face flushing a bright red. “Sweet-” He continues, head ducking down till you can’t see his face at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Oh,” You whisper. “Sweetheart.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shudders in your grasp, and you hum, popping off the two last buttons. His hands are still on your chest, and you move to take the shirt fully off him, but he stops you. “Wait.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So you do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes him a minute, but he draws in a breath, shoulders pulling up straighter again. He pops the first button of your shirt out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you think. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forgot I was wearing my uniform.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pops the second button out, too, and then the third, until you, like him, are sitting there with your chest bared. He allows you to slip his shirt the rest of the way off, then, and watches as you do the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go put these on the chair now,” you say, picking up the pile of your and Lucifer’s clothes. “Why don’t you take your shoes off. Are you sure you don’t want me to grab anything from your space? You aren’t gonna sleep in your nice pants, are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, but doesn’t elaborate further, waiting until you make your way back to him to take your hands in his. He places them on his thighs, gaze meeting yours through his eyelashes. An unspoken question you are all too willing to answer favourably. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, your hands move up, fingers gently digging into his thighs as you go. He sighs, watching as you unbuckle his belt, carefully drawing it out of the loops and setting it to the side before you continue. Your hand pauses at the clasp, and you look up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s beautiful, even with the horrible eyebags, looking down at you with a raw vulnerability on his face that you doubt he’s shown but to a scant few. He hisses as you undo the clasp, a light, near-silent sound, and shifts back until he’s leaning near fully on his elbows. He lifts his hips for you when you go to slide the pants off. You kiss his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you whisper. He shivers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You leave his underwear for now, folding the pants, and roll his socks off, gently kissing just beneath each of his knees. He shivers again, and he’s watching you like a hawk now, and really, you should have expected it when he lunged for you as you stood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands are on your hips, now, holding you in place, and he won’t meet your eyes again, but there’s a sort of confidence about him anyway as he undoes your belt, placing it next to his own. He moves to the clasp with no hesitation, quickly undoing it and the zip. The pants are slightly too big for you, you prefer them that way, but they slide easily to the floor. He looks up at you now, and you catch his jaw in your palm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you tell him. He sighs, and you lean down to kiss his forehead before you pick your pants up off the ground. You hang both pairs over your chair, hopping as you take off your socks standing up. Both yours and his go to the hamper--no-one needs to wear dirty socks again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s watching you again, as you move across the room, and this time he reaches for you first. He catches your hips in his palms, again, thumbs dipping down under the waistband of your underwear. His eyes flick up to yours. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” you tell him, so he slips those off, too. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leans back on the bed unprompted. “Good boy,” you say again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your hands go to his hips, thumbs dipping under the waistband of his underwear the way he did to yours. He lifts his hips again. Another kiss to his stomach. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t watch you, this time, as the underwear goes in the hamper with the socks. He’s still leaning back on his elbows, and his eyes are closed. He’s drawing in deep breaths, trying to keep his composure, but he’s shaking. You can see it. He jerks, startled, when you place a hand on his shoulder. “C’mere,” you tell him, and he sits up, leaning into you. You can feel his half-hard cock on your thigh, but you ignore it for now, pulling back the covers. Lucifer obediently climbs beneath them, back turned to you. It’s immediately pressed to your chest when you crawl in behind him, and instinctively, you curl your arm around him, your hand going to lightly dance against his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Master,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he hisses, and it’s as accidental and absent-minded as you calling him a good boy as he poured your tea. You kiss his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” he says again, a soft sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sweetheart?” You ask, and your hand drifts lower on him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lower.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, and your hand curls in the wiry, dark hair surrounding his dick. He gasps, and his back presses closer to your chest. Your hand trails up, fast, and he seems disappointed, almost, until your thumb presses against his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he whispers, barely audible above your and his heartbeats both pounding loudly in your ears. He bites your thumb, gently. You nip at his shoulder. He presses back against you, more, as if to challenge you--</span>
  <em>
    <span>is that all that you can do?</span>
  </em>
  <span>--so you bite. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gasps around your thumb, but pulls in your index finger, too. Your other hand rubs reassuringly against his ribcage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good boy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good boy, good boy, good boy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He lets out a choked moan as you bite again, reaching up with his hand to push your middle finger into his mouth, too. Your nails trail against his tongue. He slips your ring finger in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you tell him. His tongue swirls against your palm. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He whines when you take your fingers from his mouth, his jaws trying to find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to muffle his sounds. You take pity on him. “Turn around,” you tell him. “Good boy. Here. Mouth here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bites your shoulder, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You don’t say anything, drinking up the pain with everything in you, as your saliva-soaked hand trails down, down, down, till you can grasp his cock. He hisses at the contact, but you can hear the moan building up deep in his throat. You kiss the shoulder in front of you and start jerking him off in slow, lazy pulls. He whines. His hips are shifting, and you tap at his ribs. “Shh,” you tell him, and somehow he knows what you mean, hips stilling as much as he can make them. He whines again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” you say. “I know.” You twist your hand, and his hips buck. He’s still biting at your shoulder, fangs digging in deep. You still don’t say anything about it, but your teeth dig into him again. Bite down, twist your hand. His hands claw at your back--his nails are sharper than you expected. He’s panting against your shoulder, and he can’t keep his hips still now, fucking up into your hand. Your teeth graze his shoulder, and your nails graze against his dick. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>keens, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and his body shudders, fangs clamping </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you, in deep. You swallow your scream by biting him back, letting the tears fall from your eyes. His cum soaks the sheets, soaks your thighs, soaks your stomach and his, your hand milking him through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moans, fangs still buried in your shoulder. “Shh,” you tell him, “Shh, it’s okay.” Your words are muffled where your own teeth are still in his skin, but he draws in a deep breath. His body moves with him, and you rub your hand into his hip. It still has his jizz all over it, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His shoulders are gently shaking, now, and you remove your teeth, tongue licking over where you drew blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you tell him. Your hands rub his hip, his ribs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good boy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His shoulders shudder harder, and you move your hand up his body, until you’re rubbing the side of his throat. “Let go,” you tell him, not sure if you mean his chokehold on his emotions, or your shoulder. You find you don’t mind when he takes it as only the former. His shoulders shudder harder, and a sob catches in the back of his throat. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He whines again, a low sound that you feel more than hear, and his tears trail down his face and onto your shoulder, your neck. The scant few that hit where he bit you sting. You don’t say anything, letting him cry for as long as he needs. Your hand moves from his throat to just above his ass, back and forth in slow, gentle circles. He cries harder, and you press your face into his shoulder, letting your own tears fall. “Good boy,” you say. You kiss the juncture between his shoulder and throat, nipping at it, grazing it with your teeth. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shudders out his last few tears, finally stilling against you. “Good boy,” you tell him. “Let go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” he says, but it’s near unintelligible when said against your shoulder. Gently, he removes his fangs, and you hiss, biting him. This time, it’s his turn not to say anything. He brings up his hand and gently touches the wound he left. You hiss again, his skin swallowing the noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” he says, and it sounds pained. You let go of his shoulder, and sit up a bit, to look at him proper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks wrecked. Like an absolute mess, and you can’t help it when the words tumble out of you. “I love you,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squeezes his eyes shut. “Master,” he says. His voice is hoarse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and he sounds so horribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he says it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” you tell him again. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to. I wanted you to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t process the words fully now, but you know he will in the morning. ...Including the implications. You’re fine with that. “Stay here,” you tell him, and push the covers from the bed and onto the floor. You both hiss at the cold, and you tug the fitted sheet out from underneath him. He lifts his hips, and you kiss his stomach, his ribs, his chest. Leave a mark there. He whines. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you tell him. You move to get the blankets from the corner of the room where you keep them, and he catches your wrist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” he says. You glance back at him. “What--what about you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You lean down, kiss the back of his hand. He blushes prettily, and you doubt that anyone has ever treated him like this. As something delicate, something that can break. Something that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>allowed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to break. “You’re the one who hasn’t slept in three days, sweetheart.” And you have no doubt that it’s because of this that he’s allowed you to do this to him, for him. “We can focus on me another night, if you like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seems satiated by this, and lets you go, lets you pile the blankets on top of him and then move to get the first-aid kit you keep in the bathroom. Instead of fixing up your shoulder in there, you bring it out to him, allow him to sit up and tend to your shoulder himself. Let him get his sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>control </span>
  </em>
  <span>back, at least for a second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you tell him when he is done, and take the first-aid kit back to where it belongs. When you slide in next to him, this time, he doesn’t press his back to you, instead opting to tangle his limbs around your body, legs twined with yours, almost asleep. He lazily presses a chaste kiss to your bandaged shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” you whisper. “Go to sleep.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, and you thank fuck that it’s a weekend--that means you hadn’t set an alarm, and that Lucifer will hopefully get the sleep he needs. “Good night, sweetheart,” you whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good night, master,” he mumbles, near asleep already. You hum, letting your body collapse against his, and drift off. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His clothes aren’t there when you wake up, and neither is he--you’d hoped different, but that’s to be expected. It’s mid-afternoon, and sans Belphie, you’re the only one who can stand to sleep in that long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You notice that the bandages have been changed, though, and you smile to yourself, slipping a sweater and your uniform pants on before making your way out to the kitchen. Beel, with his head stuck in the fridge (his fangol practice must have been cancelled, you think), hands you a pack of strawberries. You hum, deciding that’ll do for now. There’s a book you left in the front room that you think you might finish today, so you and your strawberries curl up on the end of the couch. It’s some author from the Devildom, but its overdone YA fantasy aesthetic is the same as any from the human world, if not a bit more… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gory. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This particular author really loves describing infected wounds, you find. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re about halfway through your strawberries when someone moves to steal one--you swat their hand away, and they laugh, low and throaty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to steal my breakfast?” You ask, not looking up from your book. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s three in the afternoon,” Lucifer replies. You hum an affirmative. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luci sighs, shaking his head in that disappointed way of his when you or one of the brothers has done something slightly stupid, and sets a mug down next to you. One of his, with teabags in it. You raise an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Last night,” He finally says. “You never got to drink it, so I made it fresh.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You hum, pleased. “Good boy.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knows what it means, and his eyes dart away from yours. He clears his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master,” he says quietly. You blink. You hadn’t expected him to continue to call you that when he wasn't horribly sleep-deprived, much less in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>day. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sweetheart?” You finally answer. He blinks in turn, as if he hadn’t expected you to continue calling him that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your shoulder,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine,” you say. He nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bandage,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You changed it. Thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, a small smile dancing across his lips before he squashes it. “It’s visible,” he tries again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want it to be? No-one would know the difference, it looks like you claimed me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses. He clearly hadn’t thought about that, and his hand drifts to his own shoulder, where you’d left your deepest mark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep yours hidden,” you tell him, knowing that if you asked, he’d display them in the same way you unthinkingly displayed yours. “No-one but me needs to know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, master,” he says, but he’s still waiting for something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re desecrating </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>sheets tonight,” you tell him. Besides, you know he has a plethora of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun things </span>
  </em>
  <span>hidden in his space. You’d like to see what they do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, master,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You smile, turning back to your book. “Good boy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>listen. listen. if it was shitty Please forgive me bc this is the first time i have Ever properly written something even vaguely smutty. if you think it was horrible i would be eternally grateful if you told me, and told me Why it was shit, i wanna get better at this. if you enjoyed this, how,,???? <br/>also yES he does steal a pair of ur underwear when he sneaks out in the morning. do with that what you will</p><p>anyway uhh tumblr's called larry-the-demon if you wanna yell at me but all i post abt is stupid stuff and dorohedoro so be warned i guess</p><p>*meanders out thru the garbage chute. dont mind me, just passin thru, no i dont live here i promise i have a Normal, non-garbage home i pROMISE*</p></blockquote></div></div>
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